


Sleepyhead

by SoraMJigen



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Adulthood, Bad Wolf, Bedtime Stories, Companions, Forehead Kisses, Friendship, Gallifrey, Homesickness, Lullabies, Male-Female Friendship, Memories, Other, Reader-Insert, Repressed Memories, Singing, Sleep, Sleep Deprivation, Sleepiness, Stress Relief, TARDIS rooms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4289121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoraMJigen/pseuds/SoraMJigen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oneshot. The Doctor & Reader. When you can't fall asleep, the Doctor tries to help you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepyhead

**Author's Note:**

> (_) = imagine your name is there. Enjoy and thanks for reading. :)

Sleeping hadn’t been the easiest thing for you to do in what seemed like months. 

The excitement of traveling through all of time and space with the Doctor merged with the stressful home life you had left behind. How long would it be a thing of the past you did not know. The Doctor had asked you time and time again if you wanted to return to your one horse town whenever you spoke of your family and situation. Misfortune followed you like a second shadow back on Earth, having been unable to find a job and relying on your parents to cover everything even down to your car. You were an adult now (or at least, you felt like one), they had supported you your entire life and helped you in your times of need. Having been laid off from your old job, you knew that all the money you had put together for an apartment would fall by the way side, and be distributed to your bills. College loans were about as cooperative as a cage of tigers and they were what mostly drained you. Your parents not once complained and offered to help you the best that they could which you met with your gratitude, but a quiet sense of longing to embrace the life that others had. The life of a well established career, of living independently, of wedding bells and soon to be birthed babies. Instead, you found yourself barely being able to get a cashier job at the local convenience store for reasons you could not understand.

When the Doctor appeared in your town seeking some strange alien species, he asked you for directions, and while most people would disregard the man after giving him such information, you noticed something about him. He was mature, but young while embracing the tender, fun heart of a child. He had the spark of a child with a caffeine rush in their blood, bouncing about as though that thrill would never fade, but knew when to utilize logic and reason. He wasn’t like the other pencil pushers in his bow tie and suit, nor was he like those who had graduated in your class and had already carved a name for themselves in the world. He was a strange mystical man who most would have deemed crazy, but you, you did not. 

After giving him the information, you followed him, claiming you knew something about the strange things happening about the neighborhood, and how to get to places in your small town. He stopped on his heel and smirked, claiming he knew your game and while he didn’t want to play it, he knew you wouldn’t let him slip away so easily. He had a penchant for safety for those of Earth and he protested for a good while, not wanting you to follow him in fear of you or anyone being harmed. You still stuck to his side regardless of his warnings and this thrilled him, to not be so alone, but rather with someone. You both uncovered the alien species that threatened to kindly lure humanity into a false sense of security by promising them new technology that could enhance their world. When they would unleash it upon the human race, it would proceed to dominate their very bodies; technology implanting itself into people’s brains and operating them as slaves under this new dictatorship. Thankfully you both reached the source of the foreign technology and spared the lives of the creatures; the Doctor not wanting to murder them in regard to something about a place called Gallifrey and war. You didn’t understand, but it didn’t stop you from wanting to go with him into the dark wonder of the cosmos. After your adventure, he knew it would be hard to let you go and took you under his wing to travel the universe and eras. 

You parents were more than happy to see you get out of the house which made you wonder how they felt about you. Were you a burden to them all this time, you could never tell. They were always smiling and making sure that you were all right and making jokes. Yet you found it rather odd that they were more than happy to see you go off with a strange man in a blue box. It was strange, you had never known them to be like that: to have their (_) go off with a man they barely knew. They were always so protective of you, but now you didn’t know what to believe.

Stumbling from your room, the Doctor lied beneath the console working away at the Tardis. Often he called up to the ‘old girl’ as he referred to her in which she would groan in an otherworldly, but almost humanly irritated tone. He would sigh and then proceed to call her ‘sexy’ to which her voice would shift into rather more pleasant, playful notes. You smiled as you watched the Doctor banter with the console about giving her an upgrade, fixing some wires, and doing his best to make sure she was running well, if not better. Swinging in a hanging chair, goggles clung to his face as he fiddled with some wires. Your fingers ran across the dashboard of the Tardis, brushing by a bowl of fish fingers soaking in custard and you smiled. The Doctor had gotten you addicted to this rather strange combination and stealing one of the fish fingers, you allowed the flavors to dance on your tongue.

From beneath the console, the spry brown haired time lord emerged. Rubbing his hands together he watched the Tardis’ interior as he ascended the stairs. Every step caused the Tardis to hum appreciatively for him fixing her workings and improving them. 

“There, now! That’s much better!” He declared exuberantly and pressed a few buttons on the console as the Tardis hummed even louder in gratitude. Nearing his snack, he saw you nibbling on a fish finger and smiled softly, the corner of lips tugging slightly into worry.

“You’re up, are you okay? Is the bed comfy? Did I keep you up?”

“Oh no, you were fine.” You responded reassuringly, licking the bit of custard from the corner of your lip.

“Okay….good, good,” he spoke nervously, running his fingers hurriedly through his hair. His dusted green orbs examining you like biological sonic screwdrivers, attempting to detect the source of why you roamed about the Tardis. He knew it had to be late and you were the type of person who was often a night owl, but for some strange reason you had been going to bed much earlier than normal as of late. He knew you didn’t find him boring and vice versa as he pulled out his sonic and started to use it to analyze you.

The green glow traveled along your pajama covered body as you watched the light. You knew the screwdriver had technology beyond your comprehension and that it could analyze and open anything; except for wood. Why wood you never understood. Swiftly pulling the instrument away from you, the Doctor examined the sonic screwdriver searching for any reading as to what was wrong and why. Furrowing his brow, the Doctor struggled to find any sort of information and loudly groaning in protest to his sonic screwdriver not working. Shoving it into his pocket, he neared you once more, staring into your eyes. Your eyes, your eyes, your weary soul eyes; though you were still young, you had seen so much. The collapse of the economy, time periods you only read about in history, both of your graduations from high school and college, various galaxies you never knew existed, and so much more. Dark shadows rested under your eyes, reminders of your restless, sleepless nights. The Doctor examined them especially, recalling that they weren’t this dark when he had only met you a few months ago. 

“What’s wrong?” The Doctor questioned, worry flickering in his eyes as his voice spiked with a parental concern.

“Sorry, I just….I haven’t been sleeping right.” You responded, exhaustion woven in your voice as the Doctor hugged you tightly, your arms lying like stones at your sides. 

“You’re worried about home, aren’t you?”

“I…I am. I mean, I’m having a wonderful time with you. I honestly couldn’t ask for anything more spectacular as this and as much as I love it here, I just….” You drifted, burying your head into his shoulder. Slowly your hands rose, seeking comfort in your friend. Pressing your palms to his back, your fingers curled, gripping the ivory blouse. Pulling you closer, the Doctor embraced you as best as he could as though attempting to steal away the problem.

The Doctor never liked to see anyone in pain and would do the best he could to remedy whatever pain arose. While most of the situations he had encountered were curable, there were others that were not so fortunate. Those he recalled like a terrible, unexpected flashback that decided to spring forth whenever they desired. He hated those and yet he would deal with them in his manner before brushing them off and returning to his jovial self. It was a guise that could easily be seen through as a man who didn’t want to remember, but had no choice in doing so when his mind acted up. Sometimes he swore he was a prisoner to his mind and in a way, he accepted it. He enjoyed spontaneity and his mind would not be exempt from that trait, even when it chose to burst forth with old, terrible memories that you had heard him discuss before. It was a blessing, but a curse and both of you knew it all too well.

Whenever he saw you in pain (which was rare, you were as strong as a titanium alloy ox), he worried the most. He had lost too much in his life; his planet, his companions, his daughter. It was incredible how he could be so joyous at times knowing everything that he had lost, though hope was a fickle thing and perhaps some hope rested inside his hearts and it burned like the fires of war. Perhaps this hope was what kept him alive.

“I just want to go to sleep.” Your voice broke into desperate sorrow as he stroked your hair.

“You don’t want to go home? Or see your family?” The Doctor gently cooed the question and felt you shake your head.

“I want…I just…I just want to go to sleep.” You knew your family had their reasons for seeing you so happy for going with a stranger in a blue box. Maybe they wanted to see you happy or maybe they wanted you to take a break from life’s stressful situations. It sounded like them, but your mind frazzled and frizzled and was distorted like a Picasso painting. You couldn’t tell truth from lie at this point and what was real and what wasn’t real.

Quickly releasing you from his warm embrace, the Doctor threw his hands on your shoulders. Smiling, the worry faded in his eyes, trying to hide behind that hope that beat throughout his hearts, if not his body.

“Let’s help you get some sleep then.” He smiled and a burst of hope shot into your heart, causing you to smile. Maybe for once in these months you would get some sleep. You had managed to sleep before your ventures with the Doctor and even during your times with the time lord. You knew your escapades and journeys with him didn’t bother you, but rather thrilled you and filled you with wonder and hope. As he grabbed your hand, he led you throughout the Tardis to help you sleep.

First, the kitchen. Chamomile tea wasn’t your jam and after you tasted it, you felt more alert than anything. You sampled cereal, peanut butter on toast, milk, cheese and crackers, alcohol, any sleep inducing food and drink that came to either mind. Even fish fingers and custard didn’t seem to work and the Doctor frowned in his failed solution. Second, the music room. Violins and pianos did nothing for you, neither harps or harpsichords or music boxes. The Doctor and you found no music could remedy your problem, but you wound up both discussing the rise and fall of Jim Morrison who the Doctor had the pleasure of bonding with up until he wrote ‘Under My Thumb’. Still, the Doctor had a soft spot for Morrison and often paid his grave a visit. Lastly, your ideas. Sure you could have flown to Earth and snagged some Nyquil or drugs that made sleeping easier, but you had no money and robbery wasn’t either yours or the Doctor’s jam.

Reclining on the seat, you stared into the Tardis console’s tower. Her hum arose once more, singing the song of the universe that she had known all these years (if not more). It was a thrumming sound that sang like a beating heart of some otherworldly being and you had never noticed it before. It was strange and wonderful, just like the Doctor. And your eyes, your heavy eyes, dared to look into the console’s tower of glass and copper. Never before had you observed that it was so extraterrestrial and magnificent and how it sang like some alien opera singer whose notes would resound through the universes, reverberate through the galaxies, and echo during all time then, now, and what was to come. The hum-thrumming seemingly pushed you into the chair like a personal entertainer; you had lost track of the Doctor spouting solutions to help you sleep, and only focused on the console. She was a galactic siren waiting to be spoken to, more than to be fiddled and travelled with, but to be listened to as she sang her songs of time. You weren’t sure how long you sat there as your heart sank comfortably into your toes and your gaze grew distant and your brain seemingly slowed. The inviting song weighed its notes on your shoulders, bony scales that could break you into sleepy stardust. 

“There’s a plant on Quaviem that has sleep inducing properties! Or no,wait, too hostile. Maybe we could go to that planet made of dreams plucked from people’s heads! That should help! Wait, too far, it’d take up all of the Tardis to get there; a cuppa hot chocolate! That should help! Right? Right, (_)?”

“Doctor?” You called to him like a possessed child who seemingly lost their soul to some unfortunate spirit. Your voice eerily calm made shivers run down his spine and stop his hearts as he watched you. You looked into the Tardis console tower and slowly his eyes widened. People had stared into the console, the very base of the Tardis before, and you seemingly safe would not be taken advantage of the Tardis. She knew better, he knew better, but caution followed him like the plague, and he swallowed hard, waiting for your eyes to grow yellow and your heart to become as wild as a bad wolf.

“Can you….tell me a story?” You felt like a child asking such a thing, but around the Doctor you knew you could allow your maturity to sway and show who you were beneath the skin. Your tranquil voice made his silent hearts quiver as he swallowed hard and looked at the Tardis and back to you. Nothing had occurred. Nothing would occur. His eyes grew stern, as though warning the Tardis and she seemingly understood, singing her interstellar lullaby, no golden flames unfurled and he neared you with caution in fear the bad wolf was slowly stirring within. 

Would you become the bad wolf, it seemed unlikely, though the Doctor was uncertain of how long you stared into that siren tower. Your eyes did not glow nor did your body tremble with power or your mind begin to shatter from the universe’ expansive knowledge. What a mild relief and maybe the Tardis was your ultimate remedy. Though bedtime stories never harmed children and they would never harm anyone for as long as there was a good story teller to relay a tale. 

Looking at your relaxing frame, the Doctor took you into his arms. The song of the universe thrumming from the tower followed you both as his heels clicked throughout the craft. The shoes fell to the song sung from within and smiling, he released his stern look that he had when gazing upon the Tardis. 

“To bed?” You asked, your head snuggling into the crook of his neck.

“Yes. Where all bedtime stories work their magic well.”

First room to the left, the Doctor took pride in his companions more so than himself, often bettering them or doing wonders for them that they would never dream of. They would always come before him. The rooms were always customizable to the companions’ liking, filled with interchangeable sheets, furniture, and wardrobe. It was always a stunner for companions and the Doctor smiled at the idea of knowing that they could change their room as much as they liked ensuring them endless freedom. Humans and aliens were like stars in wanting freedom, to live lives without constraints, and the Doctor knew this being a man of the stars. Upon entering your room, he smiled at your theme. Of stylized sheets and soft lights that didn’t pierce the eyes upon awaking, of your own definition of beauty and joy and what made your heart flutter with elation. Resting you on the mattress, your drowsy eyes opened to see the Doctor’s kind expression.

“I’ll tell you a story- no! I’ll tell you every story I can think of until you fall asleep. How’s that?” He grinned enthusiastically and you nodded, focusing all your attention to him as the Tardis continued to hum.

Oh the stories the Doctor told would have made the Grimm Brothers and Voltaire and Mary Shelley and every well known author and writer fall to their knees in pure respect and amazement. Of singing towers on distant planets with a woman named River Song, of the end of the world with a red haired woman who he referred to as Pond, of galaxies whose names you could never properly pronounce, of fighting off a werewolf with the English queen and a woman named Rose (who he somberly looked away as though fighting off a horrible memory he didn’t wish to revisit and you stared at him worryingly before he brushed off the feeling and smiled), of New New York, of planets scientists never knew existed, of Vincent Van Gogh, of the rise of the Zygons, of Janis Joplin, of Shakespeare, of Sherlock Holmes, of Christmas with flying sharks, of Martha Jones, of Mary Jane Smith, of K9, of Captain Jack Harkness, of his escape from Gallifrey and how he stole the singing Tardis, and of so many wondrous words that flowed with the melody into your ears, each and every one finishing with bittersweet, but excited tones like a child who had lost their imaginary friend and hoped they would return. The entire time he rarely broke his grin, hiding his disguise of terrible memories rising of Rose Tyler slipping into an alternate dimension, of missing Martha Jones and Mary Jane Smith, and of longing to see his wife, River Song. It was a good act, even he himself had to admit and swallowing each distressing emotion like expired wine, he knew he would feel them regurgitate later on when you were asleep. 

“So then the triceratops appeared and we were like ‘what do we do?! It’s a dinosaur on a spaceship!’ and so we played catch with it until-“

The sound of your gentle breathing and light snoring broke his story. He stopped his words and looked at you now sleeping like a log. Smiling, he drew the covers up once more on your frame fully reclined into the mattress. Breaching deep sleep you shifted into the mattress and he grinned to know that once more the Doctor could help someone dear to him. Kissing your forehead, he turned off the light and returned to the thrumming of the Tardis console tower, now slowing her rhythm and watching him, waiting for those terrible emotions and memories to surface once more.


End file.
